


Hoppin’ out casket fresh, lookin’ like a fashion show

by jaeministie



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Character Death, Eating Disorders, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Modeling, Polyamory, Self-Destruction, Underage Drinking, lowkey morbid discussions, please don't read if you're not comfortable with any of the tags!!!, this could be triggering :(, this is all angst and very very little fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-08-03 10:22:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16324421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaeministie/pseuds/jaeministie
Summary: Jaemin is saved from endless poverty by being cast as a runaway model and discovers the extreme world of ethereal beings, passionate love and shady methods.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is my second fanfic and its wayyyy more different than my first fic 'Future of our Past'
> 
> as you can guess this is heavily inspired by Haechan's line in Regular Eng. Version (btw stream Regular)  
> I've always wanted to write something very heavy and realistic and dark so there you go ~  
> this isn't a pretty and fluffy pic but rather something crude and very angsty so do not read if you are not comfortable with the warning and the tags I've put !! I don't want to trigger anyone :( 
> 
> also HUGE DISCLAIMER:  
> this isn't in ANY WAYS a romanticization of suicide or eating disorders. EDs are not 'pretty' things and kill people each year. same for suicide and self-destruction. this is more to try to describe the modelling industry and how terrible it can be rather than any romanticization of starvation, self-harm and suicide.
> 
> this will be roughly 5k long and will have 3 parts!  
> i listened to these songs while writing this so i'll just put the titles here if you want to listen to them while reading it, to sort of get in the 'mood' !
> 
> Two Feet - Love is a Bitch  
> Of Verona - Dark in My Imagination  
> IAMX - The Great Shipwreck of Live  
> EXO - Artificial Love  
> Arctic Monkeys - Do I Wanna Know 
> 
> enjoy ~

PART 1

 

Jaemin had always dreamed of grandeur. He dreamt of applauses, sparkles, fame and depravity.

 

He knew that he would be somehow destined to glory. He didn’t know how he’d go from living in a small Korean town, with a struggling single mother to a life of glory but Jaemin was sure he’d make it at some point.

 

But for now, he was stuck in a crude, blatant reality. His mother worked double the time a human could take, and Jaemin had to work part-time after school to help her out. They both lived in the tiniest flat in Jeonju, praying their electricity and water would not be cut off before the end of the month.

 

Life was hard, that was the least you could say. Purposes were hard to find and Jaemin often wondered if the future held anything slightly better for him.

 

His days were a continuous repetition of school-work-sleep, eyeing his school friends somehow enjoying life and clients of the convenience store he worked in splurging on cheap alcohol.

 

Jaemin fed on what the media gave him. He was a sucker for all that could make him dream the slightest, for those picture perfect celebrities posing on the red carpet. He loved the drama, the melancholy of this world that was so out of reach for the common of the mortals. Whenever there was no work, he’d indulge in watching series, TV shows, movies, trying to grasp the reality of a world that wasn’t real.

 

The problem with pushing your limits to try to survive was that sometimes your body didn’t respond. It happened to Jaemin on a fine October morning, when his body decided it didn’t want to wake up. His mother had been gone to work for long hours now and the teenager found himself waking up two hours late for class.

 

It was not like he genuinely cared about school, but a part of his mind knew that it could save him from whatever misery awaited him. If he couldn’t make it in the world of glamour and fame he’d have to make it in the world of business suits and trading centres.

 

Getting ready was easy when you didn’t have water to shower or food to eat, and in a matter of minutes, Jaemin was running in the streets, uniform messily worn.

 

He was stopped a couple of meters next to his school by a Korean man and a Western woman, giving him kind (therefore terrifying) smiles, asking him if he had time.

 

“I’m running late,” he wondered why they did look so attentive.

 

“We’re model scouts,” the women said with a perfect Korean. It was as if she knew this fact, plus the words she said, would bother Jaemin and make him listen to them. Marketing at its finest.

 

Jaemin had heard about models scouts in movies, where a pretty white girl who thinks she’s ugly gets scouted and ends up being loved and appreciated. But to him, it was more of a fairy tale rather than reality

 

“What do you want,” Jaemin’s tone was cold but he was intrigued.

 

“We want to cast you,” the man responded. It sounded creepy but the neat appearances of the two people and their expensive car on the side altered it. “Seoul’s Fashion Week is coming up and we’re looking for new models,” he added.

 

Jaemin wondered why they’d want to cast him, and he was told they saw potential in him. The brunette knew he wasn’t ugly but wondered the extents to which he had looked good running to school on a 3 hours night.

 

“We can go have a seat and we’ll explain things in more details,” the woman proposed.

 

“I have class,” Jaemin knew he wasn’t considered late but absent at this point and was going to regret it tonight when he’d get no sleep because he’d have to study twice harder.

 

“Come on, we’re talking about going to Seoul and maybe New York. School ain’t shit,” the man laughed it off, observing how Jaemin shrugged his shoulders and followed them in a café next door.

 

They introduced themselves as Seunho and Angelina, working for a small Korean modelling company that provided models for runaways. They showed Jaemin a list of their enrolled models as well as the brands they had worked for, dazzling the teenager. He had only heard such brand names in Hollywood movies.

 

“If you sign a contract with us, we’ll take you to Seoul for the upcoming Fashion Week and we’ll see what happens there for your future,” Seunho pulled out a package, putting it in front of Jaemin. “But we need your answer tonight, we’re leaving tomorrow morning,” pressuring was another great marketing technique.

 

Jaemin knew conventions would want him to think about it. To hesitate, and hesitate until he couldn’t bear it. Society wanted him to be faced with a dilemma that didn’t exist in his mind. Why would he say no? He was offered something else, something new and maybe something exciting. He could leave Jeonju, leave Korea even and become famous. If it failed, he’d be back here and have to start all over again. But if he made it, his life would change for the better.

 

“You only need to sign it,” Jaemin told his mother when he went home, recalling what happened when he went to school and handing her his contract. She had frowned.

 

“Are you sure this is genuine?”

 

“It is, I’ve looked both of them up on the Internet and they’re not scammers,” Jaemin eyed his mother’s every movement, waiting for the moment she’d finally sign the goddamn contract. “I’ll get 1000$ per month as well as 20% of the money I make, and they’ll house me,” he added, sure that it would make his mother relax. It did, and she signed the piece of paper after some time.

She watched her son pack a couple of items, asking questions every now and then and eventually letting him go. Even if her exhausted body and mind were the main reason she let Jaemin leave for the unknown without arguing, she somehow knew it was the best opportunity he’d ever get.

 

Jaemin woke up to city lights, neon, thousands of people walking in the streets and an incessant hubbub.

 

Seoul.

 

It was larger and busier than what he had ever thought, but very scary. People didn’t look as happy as in the movies, and if stress had a smell, then Seoul smelled like pure, terrific stress.

 

During the first days, Angelina taught him most of the stuff he needed to know. She had been a model in Russia back in the days, and watching her walk truly was something else. Jaemin walked quite well for someone new to that business, emanating confidence. They also took his measurements, concluding it was fine. In the modelling world, there was nothing such as being too skinny or too tall; nonetheless, Jaemin fit in the average requirements.

 

Jaemin learnt that his company had a contract with the organizers of the Fashion Week, and were only allowed to promote one model. This was how it worked; the largest you were, the more models you could send. Jaemin was his company’s only representative for the season.

 

A week before the shows, the real deal started. Jaemin’s company brought him to a huge forum in which brands were recruiting models for the upcoming runaways. There were dozens and dozens of them, unknown names devoured by giants of the industry. Recruiters were people of nightmares, robots with a capacity of empathy close to zero. You had to lower your eyes in front of such people; they’d suck your soul if you didn’t.

 

Jaemin had followed Angelina and Seunho close during that forum, eyeing hundreds of models like him waiting in line for their audition.

 

They were all so … ethereal. Taller than ever. Skinnier than ever. Their skins were like blessings and God himself had sculpted their faces. Some of them had naughtiness in their eyes, others had a void in their pupils. They all radiated such beauty and perfection.

 

A few brands refused to hire Jaemin without even looking at him, pretexting they only worked with big agencies. At some point one big brand’s recruiter nudged Jaemin and asked something to Seunho, to which the man insulted him, yelling ‘he’s a minor for fuck's sake’ and leaving. Apparently, being pretty wasn’t all that was needed.

 

However, it didn’t discourage Angelina and Seunho, and they eventually encountered a brand that accepted to meet their main model.

 

It wasn’t one of the mastodons of the industry but the brand was still respectable; they took Jaemin’s measurements once more, glanced at his face a hundred times and agreed on hiring him for a show if they lightened his hair colour. It was both thrilling and terrifying.

 

Jaemin excused himself after that, rushing to the bathroom. As much as he had wanted to be confident, he was intimidated and starstruck. His dreams of grandeur might have been a survival mechanism pushing him not to give up, but now that it was happening to him, he still couldn’t believe it.

 

The bathroom smelled like guts, tears and cigarettes.

 

A sun-kissed male was sitting on the edge of the sink, looking fresh to death. His skin beamed under the cheap neon and there were absolutely no flaws on his face, any pores or blemishes. A Photoshop perfect pretty face.

 

“Don’t take this one, I think I clogged it,” that boy told Jaemin when he headed to one of the bathroom stalls. He raised his eyes to the teen who gestured him a vomiting motion, laughing it off and going back to his already well-started cigarette.

 

Jaemin leaned on the bathroom door, breathing heavily. He did it. He was going to make it.

 

He was going to become so famous people would beg him to look at them.

 

Seoul’s Fashion Week was nothing quite like Jaemin had ever seen.

 

Celebrities made their way to the VIP seats, while models were getting ready thanks to an army of running makeup artists, hairdressers and stylists. It was an irregular mess, looking like no one knew what they were doing.

 

Getting his makeup done was a new thing to Jaemin, who sported new honey hair as asked by the brand he was modelling for. It was almost pleasurable, seeing your face become flawless in a matter of minutes. He suspected makeup artists over complimented the models to boost their confidence for the shows to come but didn’t complain when his artist gushed about how long his eyelashes were or how clear his skin was.

 

Standing in line before the show would start, Jaemin felt adrenalin running wild in his veins. He wasn’t scared, but thrilled.

 

Years of misery had led to this very day.

 

With hindsight, this very first fashion show had been one of Jaemin’s happiest memories.

 

It all came naturally to him, walking confidently, valorising the clothes, posing, sketching a light smile and going back. He could see that people were judging his clothes, but were also looking at him.

 

He hadn’t only been a transparent hanger.

 

When the show ended, Angelina came to him, smile up to her cheekbones. She hugged the teen, telling him how good he had been.

 

“They loved you,” she added, motioning to some journalists on the side, interviewing some models but glancing over to Jaemin.

 

“Are they waiting for me?” and Angelina nodded. He had been told what to do in those cases, what to answer, but he hadn’t expected actual journalists to ask him questions. Walking confidently over to them, the flash of their cameras almost blinded him.

 

They asked him about his origins, his plans, his company or his private life. And as Jaemin had been trained for all those questions, he delivered a picture perfect answer to all of them, showing a bright grin between each journalist. More journalists came over, attracted by masses of people around the model.

 

“Have you ever talked with Taeyong? Do you have something to tell him?” a journalist eventually asked.

 

Taeyong was the model of the generation, no, the century. If you didn’t know Taeyong, then you didn’t know life. His face was all over magazines, and everyone at some point owned something the model endorsed. He had had a long career and was everything model aspired to be. He was richer than what you could ask for, had had relationships with the most gorgeous people in the world and was living the dream a few could ever experience.

 

“I’d like him to know I admire him a lot, but that his time is over,” Jaemin left on those words.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is part 2 ! 
> 
> keep in mind the tags and don't read if you're not comfortable with any of them and if anything is triggering to you! 
> 
> i hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it :D

PART 2

 

After the first show, brands crawled to Jaemin’s company to book him. Brands with French and Italian names the teen could barely pronounce. Brands who paid him more than 10 000$ to walk for 20 seconds. 500$ the second, Jaemin’s net worth rose in a couple of hours.

 

Angelina got him a deal with one of the world’s most famous brands, as easily as ordering a coffee at your local Starbucks. The clothes of the brand were absolutely horrendous; a mix of horribly bright colours and vintage points. But as long as it had the brand’s logo on it, people would buy it anyway.

 

As predicted, big brands meant big organisation and Jaemin found himself swept away in an organized mess of stylists, makeup artists and journalists. People were colder, more judgmental and the smell of overbearing pressure was intoxicating.

 

“You don’t fit in these,” the coordinator told Jaemin after his vain tries of getting inside the tiniest pair of jeans he had ever seen. He felt like a prey waiting for the hunter to finish him.

 

Had he never worked in the fashion industry, he would never have thought there was a size smaller than 0. 0 meant the end, and there was nothing beyond the round number. However, never underestimate the industry’s mind. They pulled out size 00 and called it a day.

 

Thankfully for Jaemin, the brand generously provided 0 and 00 clothes. He changed with shame into the larger size. Waiting on the side for the approval of the stylist, he glanced over the other models, eyeing their jeans. It had been as if the brand made a clear distinction between the two sizes, the 00 jeans having a bright yellow stripe on the side and 0 sizes being orange. Segregation at its finest.

 

“How did you even fit in these?” he asked the male in front of him, who just like everyone there had astonishing features and deep dark circles. He had some of the thinnest legs Jaemin had ever seen.

 

“I don’t know,” the male answered. Jaemin froze because he had sent him a smile. A real smile. It had been a while since the honey-haired had seen any sign of kindness. The boy in front of him might look like he’d break at any moment, his smile made him the most human in all the models Jaemin had seen. He introduced himself as Jeno. “What you said about Taeyong was really brave.”

 

Jaemin chuckled. “I either knew I’d be unemployed or over employed after this.”

 

“Guess your presence here means you’ll get work for a while now,” Jeno smiled again, shaking Jaemin’s world of zombie models. They chatted about their respective companies. “Haechan always says Elite is shit but they pay well,” Jeno explained.

 

“Who’s Haechan? Your boyfriend?” it came out Jaemin’s mouth so easily. It was no wonder considering most models ended up dating each other at some point. There was little to no homophobia in that close, confined industry. Who would know better about your model struggles than a fellow model? Jeno shook his head. “Oh, so just a regular friend then?”

 

“It’s complicated,” Jeno answered.

 

Jaemin figured out said Haechan was the sun-kissed male he had encountered in the bathroom. Up close, he had the fiercest eyes Jaemin had ever seen. You didn’t mess with this type of person; they’d probably have enough information to destroy you.

 

The honey-haired male eyed with satisfaction the orange stripes on Haechan’s pants.

 

Modelling life got better once the Seoul Fashion Week was over. Jaemin got a couple of magazines requests and posed for a dozen of them, earning the money he’d send his mother, hoping she’d finally be able to live a decent life.

 

Weight and perfect appearance didn’t matter that much for magazines because Photoshop was the crowned King there and any fat roll or a pimple would be erased in a matter of seconds.

 

He somehow got close to Haechan and Jeno regardless of the fact they worked in different companies and had different schedules. The industry was such a lonely place; you had to hold onto any relatively nice person you met.

 

People started to talk about New York’s Fashion Week when Angela told Jaemin Elite had proposed her something.

 

“They want to buy you.” Jaemin hadn’t realized he had become a common capitalist good. “They’re paying 500 000$ and you’ll get 50% now,” suddenly Jaemin didn’t mind being a product of mass consumption.

A couple of days after, the deal was sealed and Jaemin now was one of the hundreds of models of Elite.

 

With hindsight, he should probably have stayed with Angela and Seunho.

 

“We don’t have work for sizes 2” was one of the first words Jaemin heard from Elite after starting his contract.

 

The one-month vacation in between the two fashion weeks had had its toll on the honey-haired, whose body had been stocking a much food as it can when it understood it wouldn’t get a lot in the future. Jaemin didn’t get fat, but he felt like a mass of flabby grease after being weighted.

 

They didn’t tell him more than that, but the indications had been clear.

 

“You’ll lose weight fast, you’ve never dieted before,” Haechan told him when Jaemin asked him how he was supposed to reach the infamous 00. The sun-kissed male had also been told he had to shed pounds.

 

“We can go to the gym together,” Jeno added, glancing at Jaemin.

 

Haechan rolled his eyes. “You two have been awfully close lately.”

 

They had forgotten to tell him about that night when Jaemin had rushed to Haechan and Jeno’s hotel room. He had been eager to tell the two males about how he’d be part of their company and they could be together forever and had only encountered Jeno there. Perhaps they also had forgotten to narrate to the sun-kissed male the kisses and hugs that ensued.

 

“It doesn’t mean I don’t love you anymore,” Jeno kissed Haechan’s lips lightly. The later hummed.

 

“This is the only time you will hear this from me but I love you two,” Haechan pulled Jaemin for a kiss, holding Jeno’s hands.

 

In the cruel world of modelling, loving one being wasn’t enough. That’s why they resorted in loving each other with all their hearts.

 

Jaemin discovered New York under the snow, a fascinating city in which emaciated bodies mixed in with dozens of fast foods and food advertisement. Greasy pizza slices shops weren’t ideal when you only ate two apples a day, Jaemin figured out.

 

Thankfully, Haechan was there to teach him the model ways. The honey-haired had been surprised to see the sun-kissed male gulp down his weight in food at the breakfast buffet, only to understand calories didn’t count if you dumped them before they could have an impact on your weight. Haechan always looked paler and somehow sick when he came back from his bathroom trips, but his smile of satisfaction was worth a fucked up thyroid.

 

First times were hard because Jaemin hadn’t been used to it. However, vomiting was like cycling. The more you did it, the more you got used to it. By the end of the Fashion Week, he didn’t feel anything even when blood mixed in.

 

At first, he felt on the top of the world. Nobody could bring him down. In New York, his popularity grew incessantly and before he knew it he was making his first million. After sending his mother most of it, Jaemin figured out he didn’t have a lot of things to buy. Life was cheap when you didn’t eat.

 

Haechan and Jeno introduced him to the fashion shows ‘afters’, formal parties with informal activities. Alcohol flowed and drugs passed freely, while it was the perfect moments to find a rich sponsor who would pay for your expenses and grant you a job minting some favours.

 

Jaemin would attend these with the two males, hand in hand; careless to what people would think of their relation. They loved each other, having enough space in their hearts for more than one person. Other models often told them they were selfish and wanted more than one person to themselves; they answered that they didn’t give a fuck about societies standards of love. Jeno loved Haechan and Jaemin as much as Haechan loved Jaemin and Jeno and Jaemin loved Jeno and Haechan.

 

Their souls were bound to be together. They understood each other’s hardships. They’d be here for each other when the lights were off and anxiety made a smashing comeback. They’d shower each other’s crying faces with butterfly kisses.

 

“I might be young, but I know I’ll only be able to love you two,” Jaemin had told them one night, sandwiched between his lovers, resting before a show.

 

Jeno had laughed, fondling Jaemin’s face with one hand and playing with Haechan’s hand with the other.

 

“You’re aware we’ll grow old and ugly at some point,” Haechan snickered, glancing lovely at the younger male.

 

“Maybe we should all die young and pretty,” Jeno wondered, glancing at the stars from the window of the hotel room.

 

“That’s quite morbid,” Haechan commented, resting his head on Jaemin’s torso, hearing his lover’s irregular heartbeat.

 

“There’s something beautiful about the thought of dying young enough to not see yourself decay,” Jeno whispered, his eyes going from the night scenery to his lovers.

 

“Let’s all die together before we get our first wrinkle then,” Jaemin giggled, making Haechan’s head bounce on his lap. Jeno pressed kisses onto his cheeks and nose.

 

“Deal,” Haechan said, humming in content when Jaemin’s hand stroked his hair and Jeno’s hand caressed his cheek.

 

Jaemin was happy. At least, he thought he was. He was making more money than he thought he could ever have. People loved him; he had a strong fan base now and critics acclaimed his modelling. Taeyong had retired from modelling –some said his health was so bad he had been forced to- and Jaemin had then steadily been stealing his spot. Brands fought to get him to wear their clothes, and everyone in the industry knew who he was. And when he missed human contact, hugs and kisses, he had his lovers to keep him close to them at night.

 

And then, the picture perfect industry began to become Jaemin’s own hell.

 

He realized day by day that he was only the shadow of who he had been weeks before. The industry had sucked his soul so bad he wondered if he still got any.

 

It all started one day his mother came to see him. He had been back in Seoul after months in New York, and his mother had begged to come to the Korean capital. It had been nearly a year since they had last seen each other. Now that Jaemin made thousands a month, he thought he only owed her cash. Apparently, it hadn’t been enough.

 

He’d never thought his mother’s eyes would reflect disgust when she entered Jaemin’s flat. Pure, crude and blatant disgust.

 

“What happened to you?” the words were like tiny swords.

 

She was not faced with her son, but with a heap of living flesh with eyes that looked like what used to be her child. His body was emaciated; veins risking popping of the thin skin at any moment and bones painfully protruding, and his eyes, oh his eyes. Empty but angered. Brown pupils eating up half of his face while dark circles made up for the second half.

 

“What have you done?” she muttered. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

 

“I’ve saved your life by earning money,” Jaemin didn’t feel anything when he saw his mother.

 

“I don’t want your money, I want my son back.”

 

Jaemin chuckled. “That’s what someone who doesn’t need money would say.”

 

“This … industry, it ruined you. You were so beautiful.”

 

“Tell that to the brands who hire me,” he sighed, taking his denim jacket in his hand. Would his mother be jealous, just like all the Elite models, of the proud 00 tag on the cloth?

 

“Don’t let her destroy you,” Jeno told Jaemin after he had recalled the events with his lovers.

 

“You’re more beautiful than she can ever understand,” Haechan added, placing a kiss on Jaemin’s neck.

 

The honey-haired laughed, eyeing the two males next to him. He was overwhelmed with love. “Of course I am.”

 

“Don’t be too confident, I’m still the prettiest here,” Haechan whined. Jaemin punched him in the ribs, and as always, Jeno smiled, not taking sides between the two boys.

 

“We are too powerful for them,” Jaemin closed his eyes, thick eyelashes resting on his cheeks. “We rule this industry and they don’t even know it,” he smiled, interlacing his fingers with Jeno and Haechan’s slender ones.

 

Paris’ Fashion Week had been promising. The most famous brands were French, and going to the very roots of the clothes he wore could have made Jaemin dream if he still had had any goal or will to sleep.

 

He was glad to have Jeno and Haechan by his side; only them understood Jaemin. They were the reason why Jaemin hadn’t crumbled yet under pressure and starvation. When he felt like giving up, he remembered how strong his lovers were. Haechan’s thyroid was completely ruined but he kept on maintaining his skinny figure no matter what it took. He still looked ethereal when walking the runaway, skin shining brightly under the heavy lights. On the other hand, Jeno still had that beautiful, gorgeous smile in his face, whatever happened. He’d remind Jaemin of what being human meant, of what life looked like. Jeno was the most lively person out there.

 

Haechan and Jeno were the ones who always muttered to Jaemin at night that everyone loved him.

 

Everyone loved Jaemin. But would they still love him if he weren’t the picture perfect living statue? People would love him until he’d stop being what they expect him to be. One false step and he’d lose everything.

 

But he’d never lose Haechan and Jeno.

 

Or so he thought. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long delay for this last chapter! the end of this fic is already here and i hope you'll like it !
> 
> please keep in mind this chapter could be the most triggering regarding the trigger warnings i put in the tags ! as always, please don't read if you're not okay with any of the tw !!

Jeno left Jaemin’s world as quickly and gracefully as he had entered it.

 

On the third day of Paris’ Fashion Week, Jaemin entered Elite’s office, waiting on his daily runaways affiliation.  He couldn’t sleep anymore and spent his nights thinking about food, ordering some and throwing it all up, ten times at least. Food didn’t control him; he controlled food. He had control over everything. He was omnipotent. But he had lost control over his life for long now.

 

People looked emptier than they usually looked. Even his coordinator had a solemn look on his face.

 

“Are you trying to imitate the French’s usual facial expression,” Jaemin joked, putting his bag on the table and eyeing the clothes waiting on the side for the fit-in. He wished the stylist would write the size on it, a blatant 00 all over the thick material.

 

“Jeno is dead.”

 

Jaemin chuckled.

 

“Yeah, me too. French runaways are fucking intense.” The coordinator grabbed Jaemin’s arm.

 

“You don’t get it. Jeno is dead, we found his body this morning.”

 

Jaemin always had thought that losing someone close to him would be coming with ultimate pain. He had morbidly thought about the day someone would tell him his mother had died and imagined himself falling on the ground, crying all the tears in his body and begging for whatever god to bring her back.

 

However, he remained still.

 

“What brand am I working for today?” was the only thing he asked, following the stylists who tried on the variety of fur and leather clothes.

 

Jeno had sliced his wrists during the night, dying slowly and painfully. The found him bathing in his own blood, dressed in Gucci, paler and thinner than ever. A dignified model until the end. Nobody could have predicted he would have been the one to lose it.

 

After the show, Jaemin rushed backstage and grabbed Haechan’s hand.

 

“Leave me alone,” Haechan glanced at the honey-haired with anger, eyeliner being messed up by the tears. For the first time, Haechan appeared ugly to Jaemin’s eyes. His cheekbones were too prominent, his skin had lost its initial beauty and his bones were protruding too disgustingly.

 

“Haechan, what are we gonna do?” Jaemin glanced at the male.

 

“I said I don’t want to have anything to do with you anymore,” he spat. “Jeno died because of you.”

 

Jaemin tightened his grip on Haechan’s wrists.

 

“He was fine before we met you. He was happy. You ruined him,” the words were like razor blades cutting Jaemin’s skin just like it cut Jeno’s wrists to death.

 

“You’re just jealous because I’m more famous than you will ever be,” tears rolled Haechan’s eyes.

 

“I don’t want any of your fame. Keep it, I’m out,” Haechan brutally took his wrists out of Jaemin’s hold, throwing him a piece of paper. “Jeno left this for you,” were the last words he said, rushing out the door and leaving the building. Running for his life. Trying to save himself.

 

Jeno had left a suicide letter for Jaemin. Why he didn’t leave any for anyone else, this was a mystery. Jeno would never get the chance to explain himself.

 

This letter said a lot of things but didn’t say why he had decided to finish like this. Jeno had always looked like the happiest model out of everyone. He smiled at the end of runaways, during interviews. He never complained about dieting. He looked like he belonged here. And now the only place he belonged to was his coffin.

 

The last words written were blurred, probably with Jeno’s tears.

 

_I loved you so much, Nana, more than you can have imagined._

Jeno had never told him such words. If he had loved Jaemin that much, why did he abandon him?

 

Jaemin threw the letter in the trash and went on with his day.

 

Jeno disappeared from the world of fashion fast. People didn’t talk about him anymore, nobody said his name after that and Elite made sure journalists wouldn’t know about his death.

 

As much as Jaemin wanted to be strong, he was dying day after day. Jeno was gone, Haechan had left the industry and he was alone in that wolf pit with no one on his side.

 

They sent him to Milan, Tokyo and Toronto after that, responding to Jaemin begging them to make him work as much as they could. He couldn’t bear his thoughts anymore when he faced himself in the mirror after a shower. He often saw a monster in his own reflection, a living dead, all bones and pasty white skin. His eyes were monstrous as if bearing the guilt of Jeno’s death with pride.

 

Blood dripped on the bathroom floor when he broke the mirror one night.

 

His thoughts were becoming his own personal hell, eating him up alive. Jaemin would spend hours in the shower, his mind blank and his thoughts murdering him.  And then he’d have to show up at the company the next day, all smiles and bones, ready for the show. Faking happiness was more difficult than what Jaemin had thought. He wondered how Jeno managed to fool everyone if he had been suffering so much.

 

Haechan called one day, months after Jeno’s death. “I miss you,” he said, voice very neutral.

 

“Then why did you leave?” Jaemin kept composure, trying to ignore his beating heart. He had loved Haechan so much and hated that he still loved him.

 

“It would have killed me, this industry. I couldn’t bear the pressure, the starvation and how weak I have been for years,” Haechan enumerated. “I am happy now. I can finally eat without worry.”

 

“But you’re a nobody now,” Jaemin’s words were crude. Haechan snickered.

 

“I better be a nobody than dead. You should leave too, Nana.”

 

“I’m happy here,” lies, lies, the pretty lies Jaemin said. “I’m famous and I have more money than I could ever wish,” he added.

 

“You’re going to regret it one day if you live long enough to reflect on it,” and on that Haechan broke off the call. It was the last time the two males talked. Months of love ended by the industry, always the damn industry.

 

The last months were terrible. Jaemin spent his days lamenting, without sleep or food, ruminating thoughts over and over. He still modelled, and Elite was praising him for the weight loss and how he finally understood smiling wasn’t acceptable when on the runaway. He now looked like all models; a cloth hanger, just like everyone. He was as empty inside as he looked outside. His mind forgot about a lot of things, and his original thick hair fell more day-by-day.

 

Nights were the worst. Darkness woke Jaemin’s worries more than during the day, and he often was alone, the lights, sounds of the backstage of the fashion shows long gone.

 

He had no one.

 

Everyone he had ever loved had left him.

 

His mother brushing his hair when coming from work late at night was long gone. Haechan and Jeno hugging him to sleep, showering him with more love than he deserved was a long lost memory. It was so far in Jaemin’s mind.

 

What had he done to fuck it all up? He had always diligently followed orders. He had never been selfish. He had worked so hard to get under the spotlight.

 

With hindsight, he had been happy before being cast as a model. His life had been simple and very poor in all aspects.

 

For the first time in years, Jaemin broke into tears. Salty, painful tears, making his eyes double in size and his head hurt.

 

His body ached. His soul ached.

 

He missed his mother’s smile, her hard work, her doing her best for her son. He missed Haechan, his beauty and wittiness and the way he took care of Jaemin like no one ever did. And he missed Jeno, whose smile was the only humane thing in the industry. Jeno had been human and too pure for this cruel world.

 

But Jeno left him all alone, leaving in an irrevocable manner.

 

He said he loved Jaemin but he still had abandoned him in the worst way. Jeno chose suicide, not strong enough to continue to live. He was weak. No, he had been weak. He was dead now, body decomposing 6 feet under the ground. Dieting didn’t matter anymore when you were only bones.

 

Weak, weak, weak. The words were playing danse macabre in Jaemin’s mind.

Jeno had been weak.

Jaemin wasn’t weak.

 

_Was he?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand here is the end of this fic! i kept the ending open to any conclusion because i think it suited more the story than anything !
> 
> this story was pretty hard to write because of the heavy content but i'm happy with how it came out in the end!
> 
> i might do a sequel for this fic if any of you wants one, and i'm working on some other fics rn which i might come out with pretty soon ! let me know if you have any preference for dark or soft fics ! 
> 
> as always, thank you for reading and take care !!!


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